Zydrate's Fuzzy Kiss
by Magical Shovel
Summary: Just one hit of the glow is what you need to feel alive. On a cold night after a charity event, Amber Sweet encounters GraveRobber for the first time. Will she take the hit? Gramber. I never thought I would write Gramber...


**Zydrate's Fuzzy Kiss**

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Repo! nor Amber Sweet, GraveRobber, and characters. They belong to Terrance Zdunich and Darren Smith.

_Note_: I never thought I would write Gramber, but it was fun. o.O I must have a fever!? (Well, I am sick, but...)

She's the Goddess of Surgery and he's the low-life scum of the street. At first glance, one would never expect them to meet. Yet, the world is full of silly irony. The evening that they first met was brutally cold.

- ~ -

The charity ends with her father's booming voice. The princess kisses the king on the cheek, waving off the troublesome princes. Her high heels click against the polished wood and pavement. The limo has yet to arrive. Impatient, she fidgets and readjusts her dress. Glancing from side to side, she pulls up her sweater to conceal the entwining scars decorated upon her collar bone.

Minutes roll by. Minutes turn into transparent hours. Pain throbs like a constant drum within her chest. Her panting grows rapid and her mind becomes fuzzy. Staggering backwards, the Goddess regains her grip on reality.

It's just the pain of being addicted... to surgery.

She wants to get home as quickly as possible. The terribly pain will fade away, even if the scars do not.

Her name is not as well-known as it will become. She, her name, is still new to the surgery addicted world, even though the name of her father is not. She lacks the guards that she wears as an accessory. Back then, she could take care of herself. Her chauffeur does not show up. Angry, she stomps off in the general direction of her looming household.

_I'll just get there myself._ With determination in her cerulean orbs, she storms away. Cautiously, she tightens her coat around her lithe frame. Amber, the princess that she used to be, never went out alone at such a late hour nor did she roam such streets. Normally, if she were out this late, she would be with a friend.

Not tonight. The night is an unfortunate one. A cat yelps on a fence post followed by a belligerent dog's barking. She's not where she should be. Nor where she's used to being. She feels out of place. Somewhere along the lines, she has taken a wrong turn.

All towns have a crappy and beautiful part. Unknowingly, humanity fixates on the idea of duality. This proves such. Amber is in the slumps and realization clicks like a churning wheel within her mind. She's heard stories... From friends, family, and colleagues alike._I'm not safe here. I shouldn't be here. I should have waited for the goddamned limo!_ Why didn't she listen? Because it was incorporated within herself to not.

The moonlight illuminates her face and torso like never before. Heels click together. Something prevents her from moving. The voice of song. There is a moan. All noise comes to an immediate halt.

Amber is confused. The pain aches. She doesn't know what to do. Natural curiosity provokes her. She marches to the source, hips subconsciously sway. Closer... A figure appears. Not one. A few. One is slumped against the alley's wall.

"I can't feel nothin' at all..."

The words are heavy, laced with a subduing quality. She looks upon the girl who lays on the ground and envy rises from her heart. The addict seems... so serene. There is no pain that lurks in the heavily lidded eyes.

_Nothing at all..._ Amber muses to herself. A voice interjects, "Pain-free."

"Wha?" An incoherent word emits from the supposed Goddess. She turns to the young male who is older than herself. Yet, he pertains a certain vigor and youth. His cheekbones are elegantly displayed. His face is a ghastly, pale shade. His eyes are of a deep, sensual blue. Something, a gun, happens to be within his grasp.

Amber flinches. Guns. Now she knows she is in the crummiest part of town. "What's that?" She gestures to the gun.

His voice is smooth, "Scared?" Lips curl into a mocking grin. She frowns, shaking her head as a response. He runs to fingers along the muzzle, "Oh this? I get by with a little help from my friend. I'm surprised you don't recognize what this is, Miss Sweet. surGENs usually administer Zydrate... differently." Each word rolls off his tongue.

Zydrate. Now she remembers. For her surgery... They gave it to her in order to cope with the tremendous pain. However, it came back just like the Chesire Cat. Amber clutches her sweater, "But you're an unlicensed source. Daddy'll-"

"Shhh," he does the surprising and places a finger along her cheekbone. "Daddy's not here right now. Besides, who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do? you don't know my name... Where I live... Who I truly am. There's no way you can catch me."

Flustered, she backs away, "Then... What do _they_ call you?" She wants to know. Curiosity is inevitable now. "What should _I_ call you?"

"Why? Do you plan on calling?" He chuckles at his own witty joke. Amber dislikes the game. She frowns, turning away. "Wait." She turns around to face him. "They call me GraveRobber." _Tacky name..._ She thinks to herself. Yet, beneath the subdued glamour, he is their king.

"You need a hit."

"I don't need a hit."

"To feel alive."

"To feel alive... New..."

"To change inside."

"To change myself..."

"Surgery is what you need."

"What I need? No, I don't!" Amber pushes away. She did not need it. Did not want it. Yet, she does. Amber cut her hair, changed her name, her makeup, her clothing... All for a reason. She craves fame just as much as surgery. No one but herself can truly understand. She thinks that by undergoing these changes, her father will notice and shower her with affection instead of the cold shoulder.

"First hit's free." He waves the gun of enticement. Her eyes follow it like a cat's. She sighs in defeat, knowing she will never be the same again. It will taint and consume her.

"That's a lame pick-up line."

"I try." He smiles, "Do you want it?"

_I don't want it. I __**need **__it._"You had me at Zydrate." He puts the muzzle against the hollow of her neck. One... Two... Three... Ecstasy. The gun sparks and colors flash before her eyes. She bathes in the fuzzy kiss of Zydrate. It's beautiful. The pain vanishes.

It was the first time they met, but never the last.

She continues to visit for the occasional hit of the glow. It's a hefty reliance and she hates herself for it.

In her ornate mirror, she glides her thin fingers against her jawline. Her nose, eyes, jaw, forehead; everything is different. She scowls. Amber desperate wants to smash the mirror, connecting her to the superficial world that hardens her from each surgery. Soon enough, her exterior will become like porcelain. When that time comes, she will break.

"I hate how I look."


End file.
